The record player
I feel like I should write something. . .I got a portable turntable
Set it up by my crate of vinyl memories
Voices singing, brings the click of a slide show
No digital
The familiar tunes are a lullaby to a racing heart
Parked at a drive in, watching home movies
It took a few months to place a black disk in play
The ghosts of Me past gently haunt
But I’m not so scared anymore